Clickers vs Zombies (25 page)

Augustus began heading toward the grove of trees. The heat from the fires made the temperatures even hotter in this mid-July morning. Supposed to be one hundred and one today, Augustus thought, but it feels even hotter. He looked south toward Los Angeles, which was covered in a thick cloud of smoke.

“First things first,” he muttered. “Look for Marion in that grove of trees. You have to brace yourself for the fact that she might be dead, or she might be one of those things now. If so, you have to get back to the house. Get behind the wheel of that limo and head back to Malibu. Hole up there.”

Surely there had to be some form of government still around. Didn’t he read somewhere that in the event of some catastrophic event key government officials could retreat to hidden warrens and tunnels beneath Washington DC? Somebody had to be down there now, maybe some skeleton government. Surely plans were already being made to stop this carnage. In fact, the military was probably already engaging in battle with them now and…Augustus shook his head.

“Engaging in battle?” He was aware that he was speaking out loud again, but he didn’t care. “Where did that phrase come from? You’re starting to lose it, old man. You’ve never had the slightest interest in the military and now you’re tossing around military terms in your conscious mind as if you’re a four-star Colonel.”

At that thought, Augustus grinned. Maybe at some point he was a four-star Colonel. After all, he could have been one in another life, right?

He continued on toward the grove of trees. He ignored the smears of blood on the grass, the scraps of bloody clothing that littered the bushes, the trees. He noted that there were no dead bodies lying around. Either they’d been consumed by the Clickers or wandered on as zombies in search of other prey. Or maybe both. Many of the trees were withered and blackened. Several had fallen to the ground, or leaned with splintered, blackened trunks. A few were nothing more than charred stumps. He remembered the black Clicker from the night before. It had been spraying the trees with some sort of venom that had acted as a defoliant. Some of the zombies had been sprayed with the venom and had melted, which the Clicker had eaten. He was mindful not to touch any of the vegetation, and watched where he stepped.

As Augustus moved deeper into the ruined undergrowth he couldn’t help but think about Marion. He felt himself getting emotional; she was most likely dead, melted from the corrosive venom of that black Clicker and devoured like soup, or her body was a shell, being used by one of those creatures. The thought of this overwhelmed him, stabbed him with grief. Augustus paused in his trek and leaned against a tree for support.
What if I can’t find her
? He thought.
What if she’s really gone?

He couldn’t imagine life without Marion. They’d been together for fifty years. A lifetime. Memories of their youth flashed in his memories. The early years of their marriage. Their first born child and how happy they’d been. Sure, they’d had some stressful times in their marriage—what relationship didn’t? But despite the bad times, they found strength in each other. They’d always had each other to lean on for support. And as the years had passed and the kids had grown from toddlers to elementary school aged, to being in high school, his career had taken off, and then Marion had joined him in the business and life had opened up far and wide for them. Their relationship had blossomed on so many levels. And through it all, they still managed to find time for each other. They had still gone on dates—the movies, dinner at their favorite restaurants, or just a quiet walk on the beach at sunset. Augustus still bought Marion a bouquet of flowers every Friday afternoon and presented them to her as if he were still courting her. And when they made love on those rare nights when nobody was pressuring them for something, whether it was for business or family, it was very much like making love to the eighteen-year old girl he’d fallen in love with he’d met in college. Slipping her clothes off to touch her bare skin, feeling her body pressed against his, the way it made him stiffen in arousal, it was still very much like being a young man again, touching her for the first time. Marion had made him feel young again every time they came together in love.

Thinking about this made him think of a song his older son used to listen to. “Feels Like the First Time,” by a band called Foreigner. That was a lifetime ago, when George was in Junior High school and he would spend hours in his bedroom listening to albums by the likes of Styx and REO Speedwagon and Ted Nugent. Those albums, and the Foreigner record that was now playing in his head, had been on constant replay in their home back in the late seventies. Augustus hadn’t cared much for George’s choice in music, but he hadn’t discouraged it, either. Still, that song had spoken to him, and it spoke to him now as he stepped through the vegetation into a small clearing and stopped.

Marion stood there, silhouetted in the morning sun that cast iridescent beams through the trees behind her. “
Hello, Augie
,” she said with a smile.

Augustus felt the blood rush from his face. “Marion…”

“
I’ve been waiting for you
.”

“Is that…is that really you?” Heart pounding, still aroused from the erotic day dreams he’d just entertained in his mind, he stepped forward.

“
Of course it’s me
,” Marion said, her grin revealing bloody, broken teeth that Augustus failed to notice, he was so enraptured by the thought of seeing her. The thing that was Marion held her arms open. “
Come, my darling. Fill me up. I’m yours
.”

“Oh Marion,” Augustus said. He was weeping. Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled to Marion, the love of his life, the center of his universe. Just a few moments ago he’d been torn at the prospect of living the rest of his life without her and now he didn’t have to face that moment. She was here and they could escape together, head back to the house in Malibu near the ocean, with its peaceful beachfronts and clean, brisk sea air, and they could hide out together until this negative energy spent itself.

Augustus took her into his arms, embracing her, not even aware that pieces of her were missing, that his right hand was resting on the back of her bare rib cage which had been stripped of flesh. He wept and held his Marion close to him and he felt her fingers touch his belly as she loosened his trousers. He felt cool air on his buttocks as his trousers fell down to his knees and then she was grasping his hardness, and even then, Augustus did not notice when the flesh of his penis scraped against the bones of her bare fingers.

“
Let me have you
,” Marion whispered in his ear.

“Yes.” Augustus closed his eyes.

And then they fell together and when Marion guided him into her and he began to love her, he didn’t even feel it as her teeth clamped down on his neck and bit down, tearing into his flesh. She coaxed him along, thrusting with her hips, and the last thing Augustus felt was that it felt so good, so
wonderful
, to be back in the arms of his lover, partner, and soul mate.

Then his soul departed, and something else slid into his body. Slowly, the two corpses rose from their coupling and went in search of prey.

Palos Verdes, California

Dr. Alfred Post decided to try raising somebody on the Ham radio. Al had been involved in amateur radio since he was twelve years old. His call letters were K87R-RT3, and he’d been licensed since he was twelve years old. He was past president of the Los Angeles Ham Radio Operators club, and had been involved in all aspects of the hobby including radio teletype, Dxing, APRS, satellites, and everything in between. He also made an annual pilgrimage to Dayton, Ohio every May for Hamfest, a convention that drew radio enthusiasts from all over the world. It was at Hamfest where Al would talk to vendors and manufacturers, buy new equipment, get tips on upgrades, and learn about emerging technologies in the hobby.

The power was out, but Al had spent the morning quietly getting his emergency generator running. It was humming along now, generating power to the radio equipment in the spare bedroom on the ground floor of the house. Janice had sat in the corner chair, afraid to leave his side as Al had worked at hooking things up. “Don’t know why I didn’t hook this stuff up sooner,” he said as he sat at his desk and began powering his system up. “I should have had this on yesterday but I was so caught up in things.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Janice said. She had gotten over her shock somewhat. Her brown, wavy hair hung limply about her face.

“There” Al said. He dialed the tuner knob across the band, trying to pick up something. All he heard was dead silence across all channels.

“Maybe you should give out your call signal,” Janice said. “Maybe we just aren’t receiving.”

“Good point.” Al flicked another switch, then picked up the microphone. “This is K87R-RT3 broadcasting from Palos Verdes, California. Repeat, this is K87R-RT3 broadcasting from Palos Verdes, California.”

Al repeated this for a few minutes. He moved the dial slowly across the band, hoping to pick up something, but all he received was silence.

“Damn!” He leaned back, dejected.

“Keep trying,” Janice said. “Just keep giving out our call signal. Somebody is bound to respond. I can’t imagine you’re the only Ham operator in the country left.”

Al tried again. He continued broadcasting his call letters across an open network, hoping for a response.

An hour later he gave up. He sat behind his desk, head cradled in his hands. Behind him, Janice had buried her face in her hands and was sobbing quietly. Last night, they had been able to hear explosions and chaos from outside. Today, it was quiet. Deadly quiet.

After a few moments, Al stepped back from the equipment. He walked over to Janice and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Come on honey,” he said. “Let’s head upstairs. We can try again tomorrow.

Janice wiped her eyes with her fingers and nodded. “Okay,” she said. He helped her to her feet and they turned to head out the door when an electronic squelching sound emitted from the Ham radio equipment speakers.

They turned around quickly. The squelch sounded again. It was the unmistakable sound of communication. Al froze, trying not to get his hopes up. Surely it was just dead air.

But it wasn’t. There was another squelch, a burst of feedback.

And then a voice spoke to them from the Ham radio equipment speakers in response to Al’s broadcast.

NINE

Los Angeles, California

Ob rampaged down Hollywood Boulevard, leaving a devastating path of destruction in his wake. It was a beautiful, sunny California day and he was in a great mood. His monstrous host body had performed wonderfully so far, and he was delighted with its capabilities. Even better, he had received word from his forces that all of this planet’s protectors were now dead. Each of the Seven had been killed, the heads of the world’s governments were slaughtered, and the Black Lodge organization was utterly decimated—its fearful remnants scattered and hiding. No one remained on this Earth to stymie their conquest or send them back in the Void. He mulled this over while snatching a fleeing human from the street and slowly pulling the hapless victim’s arms and legs off one by one.

All around his behemoth host body, battles raged between his fellow Siqqusim, the Clickers, and the humans trapped between the two forces. The Clickers’ motivations remained the same as ever—food and self-defense—but the zombies had a much bigger motive. Upon seeing how well their leader had benefited upon taking possession of a dead Clicker, they were now focused on killing the crab-things first, to better utilize the monstrous forms in then killing the city’s remaining humans. It was glorious sport, and Ob was enjoying the grisly spectacle until he reached Hollywood and Vine.

A rag-tag band of policemen, gang members, private citizens, and the remnants of a National Guard unit had blockaded the intersection with an array of vehicles, and were hunkered down behind them, gunning down both zombies and Clickers with equal furor. As Ob lumbered toward them, a few humans broke from the group, fleeing down the boulevard, but the of them majority remained. Immediately, they concentrated all of their firepower on him. Most of the bullets were ineffective, ricocheting off his behemoth host body’s thick carapace and striking surrounding buildings instead. Then one of the humans scrambled atop a military Humvee with a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on its top, and opened fire, aiming for Ob’s underside. He felt the heavy rounds puncture his abdomen and tunnel through the soft meat. Roaring, he charged the blockade, slamming his claws together and lashing his massive tail back and forth. The barrage continued, severing two of Ob’s legs. His heavy bulk crashed to the pavement, cracking a bronze star for an Oscar-winning screenwriter named David J. Schow. Ob seized an awning from a nearby restaurant and flung it at his opponents. Then, taking advantage of the momentary distraction, he struggled to his feet and tried to run, but it was impossible to do with two missing legs. He jabbed at the blockade with his stinger, but the humans were too far away to reach. Frustrated, he snapped a nearby tree off at the base, intending to use it as a club. Before he could lift it, however, several small, oval-shaped metal objects rolled toward him from behind one of the wrecked cars. He had time enough to realize that they were grenades, and heard the human who had thrown them holler at his companions to duck, and then his host body was blown apart. Pinkish-white Clicker meat and fragments of shell rained down on the Walk of Fame, but Ob wasn’t there to see it. His incorporeal form was already back in the Void, waiting to take possession of his next vessel.